


Bet your Soul

by integral_love



Category: Critical Role (Web Series), UnDeadwood (Web Series)
Genre: Arabella does not deal well with loss, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, magic is fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-16 03:35:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21501220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/integral_love/pseuds/integral_love
Summary: Arabella does not deal well with loss and decides to fight fate. It turns our she is rather lucky when betting her soul though.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 40





	1. Lost and Found

Arabella was not in the business of making good decisions not after the week she has had. Though she supposed one could argue about the value of her current decision but it was likely a fair shot from what could be considered sensible. However where one may have once found her caring for such a thing one would now be faced with a certain lack of emotional investment in the concept. Her last week could be considered exhausting and it had certainly left her raw and emotional. Since the death of the man Deadwood had known as Clayton Sharpe little more than a week ago Arabella had grown tired of the feeling of loss and the way everyone around her seemed to be dealing with it. People acted as if things could just go back to normal, as if it had been a normal day in Deadwood when Sharpe had died and in a way Arabella suspected she may have been able to do so as well if not for the jarring memories of the days before and the way Miriram’s words rang true. _This is not justice_, Miriam had said and while Arabella had been too shocked, too terrified that day and in a way still too caught up in her sister’s second death the words echoed in her head every day that followed bringing with them the memory of Sharpe calling for Wild Bill Hickok so he would not shoot at Arabella. But as the events of that day caught up with Arabella everyone else seemed to work through things and carried on. Miriam, to her credit, was open in her pain and anger but while both women were able to relate to each other’s loss Miriam seemed to have an uncanny ability to carry on with life. And though the older woman tried to comfort Arabella it did little good. Arabella found that all she had going for herself was her knack for the occult and an unwillingness to accept fate and as the days carried on and her emotions became more and more volatile, bubbling just under the surface of her otherwise collected exterior an idea began to form. Arabella tried to wait, to hold out in hopes that things would get easier but the day Aloysius seemed to magically feel compassion again the pain became too much to bear and she decided to move.

In a way it really should not come as any surprise to people that, eight days after Sharpe’s death, Arabella broke into the now empty house of the doctor. It was early in the night but no one really paid her any mind. For the most part people had either gotten used to her or were too drunk to care and with Miriam at the Bella Union taking care of the ladies and Reverend Mason talking to Aloysius Arabella was more or less free to do as she pleased. Her husband was certain to be too drunk, trying to drown his own loss, to realise she was not around. It was almost too easy and if she weren’t so tense Arabella would have smiled at the irony of her breaking into the house of the doctor for a second time but with the intention of finding a book that could help her return the dead back to life for the very man who had, when she had first opened the door, been only partially impressed and at least somewhat judging of her upbringing and her desire to gain knowledge that was not supposed to be hers. But Arabella was tired and hurting and if she were neither of these things she would be insulted by how easy it was to find a book tailored to her specific needs with none of the snake demon possession. All she needed was the dead body of the person she wanted to bring back to life and a soul she was ready to gamble. With the night still young and her mind restless Arabella decided she may as well go ahead with her plan. Preparations for the ritual were almost laughably easy and soon she found herself at the graveyard. It occurred to her that she probably ought to be more disturbed by digging up a body but with it being the second time in just as many weeks Arabella found herself oddly calm about the whole thing. At least this time she was better prepared and had brought a shovel to assist in the endeavour which was an improvement to the last time. The nerves that had set her skin alight and had made her irritable over the last week faded with every shovel of dirt she removed from Sharpe’s grave so by the time it took her to free Clayton’s body from the grave her mind was blissfully clear and in place of jittery nerves calm determination filled her. Slowly, meticulously she laid out the body and set up the few things she needed for the ritual, read through the pages in the book again and took a deep breath. This was her shot at the very thing she had not been able to do for her sister. As Arabella began the ritual, the sky brightening slightly as the first sign of the impeding morning, she closed her eyes. In her mind she heard the familiar voice of the dealer speak to her.

_“Greed ain’t cheap dear and you are being very, very greedy tonight.”_

The calm judgement in his voice should be worrying her, Arabella knew, it should unsettle her how ready she was to make this bet but her voice was low and steady when she answered,

_“I am aware and if I have to pay the price I will.”_

_“As the lady wishes.”_

With every card the dealer dealt Arabella felt the familiar thrum of power run through her but where it had felt wild and dangerous before it seemed warmer now and curled itself around her until it reached for Clayton’s body. With the last card dealt Arabella felt the energy seep from her and into the dead body in front of her where his wounds closed and colour slowly returned to his skin. With the first rays of the sun finding their way over the mountains in the east and shining upon the graveyard breath seemed to return to Clayton’s body.  
Unable to stop herself from confirming what Arabella already knew she reached out and let her fingers settle on his wrist. Feeling his steady pulse under her finger Arabella watched the silver lining on the horizon turn brighter and the sky turn brighter still and she knew that after what she had just done she could not stay in Deadwood. The truth was she had brought a man back to life when she had not been able to do the same for her sister. The truth was she did not know how Aly would react and whether, for all the regret he had started showing, he would try killing Sharpe again. The truth was that running away and hiding from prying eyes with the man she still thought of as Clayton Sharpe scared her far less than staying in Deadwood with her dead sister’s husband no matter how antagonistic her relationship with Clayton had been at times. The memories of shooting her sister, of Aly shooting Clayton, of the haunted look on Reverend Masons’ face and the anguish in Miriam’s voice weighed too heavy on her mind.  
Arabella did not know how much time she had spent thinking when she felt the wrist under her fingers shift until her hand was enveloped in Clayton’s and he squeezed hers softly.

_“Welcome back Mr. Sharpe.”_

A weary smile stretched over his lips and in the light of the early morning his face looked almost serene.

_“You are a scary woman.”_

A startled laugh made it past Arabella’s lips.

_“Maybe I am. No time to dwell on that now. It’s getting late and I think we ought to leave. I don’t think people would take too well to a dead man walking their streets after what happened.”_

To his credit Clayton did not question her but got up slowly. Later they could think about contacting Miriam and the Reverend. Later she would ask about the truth. But for now they had to vanish like the last wisps of fog that clung to Arabella.

Arabella Livingston was not someone who was happy with the way the world was and if she could she would bare her teeth at fate and fight it even if that meant walking towards hell with steady steps.


	2. The Price that's Paid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only rewrote this three times so there is that. Apologies for taking so long, I hope you enjoy.

Miriam felt more and more anxious with every step they got closer to the small town a week’s ride from Deadwood. It would not do to alert the men riding next to her though, they had enough to deal with as it were but Miriam could not help herself and shifted in the saddle. Next to her the Reverend turned his head but when he caught her eye she just shook her head softly. They had talked about this, about why they were here and what they would say. They had had the time for it over the last few weeks when they had been searching for Arabella. The red-head, for all that she had stood out in Deadwood, had been hard to track down. She had vanished a day after Aloysius’ emotions had returned and had left them with too many questions, vague feelings of guilt, and an empty grave. It had taken her, the Reverend, and Aloysius two days and a bottle of whiskey to sit down and make the decision to go and find Arabella. It had been hard at first and the night they had sat down and had come to the conclusion that it may be someone other than Arabella who was good at disappearing, that maybe Arabella had succeeded in bringing Sharpe back from the dead as more than a marionette had almost turn what remained of their group apart. Of course they had known, or had at the very least assumed what Arabella had tried the night she had vanished, but still things had shifted between the three of them and they had become more anxious of what or rather who they would find. Was Arabella even still alive, still fully herself or had she lost a bet against the Dealer? Was Sharpe with her and if he was _what_ was he? Only when they had finally found a real trace of Arabella’s whereabouts had their nerves started to settle a little and Matthew, bless his heart, had started trusting her around Aloysius again. In hindsight Miriam knew she had been harsh with the man but he had killed Sharpe and though they had spoken about it extensively Miriam could not always help herself when it came down to it.  
The town itself was small and almost the moment the three of them rode past the first few houses Miriam saw her. On a porch just a few houses down sat Arabella with a book on her lap and a cup in one hand.

_“Over there.”_

Her voice sounded strange to her own ears and she was uncertain whether she had spoken loud enough for the men to hear her but then Matthew rode ahead and lead the way towards the house. From then on things were a bit of a blur for Miriam. Arabella was calm upon greeting them though there was an edge in her voice when she spoke to Aloysius. She seemed no less warm to Miriam than she had been before as she hugged her in greeting and smiled warmly. The four of them talked for most of the afternoon, at first out on the porch with coffee and later in the kitchen of the small house and everything seemed just fine. Or fine enough anyways. Arabella was amused by their stories, chuckled at their failure to track her down, frowned softly when she heard about the downpour that had surprised them one night, and smirked gleefully when they told her about how the good Reverend of all people had almost started not one but two bar fights. It was easy to notice that Arabella was more reluctant to talk about her own adventures during the month they had spent apart. She tiptoed around some issues and Miriam could not blame her but her eyes caught those of the Reverend more than once and she knew he was just as aware of the things the younger woman did not say. Aloysius, too, was very aware and Miriam felt more than saw him frown a few times when Arabella’s back was turned towards them. They were all waiting for the shoe to drop. Each of them had looked out of the window a bit too often, had been caught staring at Arabella a bit too intently and all three of them had taken stock of the interior of the small house upon entering it. Though she was not sure what the others had seen Miriam herself had noticed a second cup standing on a small table by a window in the back and two sets of woollen blankets on two different chairs. Yes, there was something yet to come and they were all waiting.

When it eventually happened Miriam almost realised it too late. By the time she noticed the tension in the younger woman’s body Arabella had already moved between the three of them and the door. If not for the flint in Arabella’s eyes Miriam could almost believe Arabella had moved there to clean some dust for she had been cleaning for the last half hour. But Miriam was no fool and though she could not say when Arabella had picked up the gun she was currently hiding under the rag in her right hand she still knew it was there and by the way Matthew and Aloysius shifted next to her they knew as well. Then the door opened and almost like a ghost the man they had known as Clayton Sharpe appeared behind Arabella. The tension in the room could easily be cut with a knife and for a moment no one moved. That was until Sharpe broke the silence.

_“Well that certainly took you longer than I expected.”_

His voice was low just like Miriam remembered and he seemed as unfazed by anything non-supernatural as he had been the last time she had seen him. The frown Arabella directed at Sharpe as he moved past all of them to get himself a glass of water almost made Miriam smile despite the situation. Almost being the keyword. Miriam knew Aloysius was no longer any danger to Sharpe, that neither the Reverend nor she herself meant any harm but for all intents and purposes the three of them had entered what may as well be the current home of a man Aloysius had killed and no matter how permanent that death had been she could see how the situation may look like for the other two occupants of the kitchen. They had talked about a lot of things over the last hours but Sharpe was not amongst them. None of them had been quite capable of bringing up their dead gunslinger. The man himself seemed set on singlehanded smoothing things over though. He turned, glass still in hand, and leaned against the kitchen counter letting his eyes roam over them until they stopped at Aloysius.

_“Are you going to try and kill me again?”_

Sharpe’s voice was even and without a hint of anger in it. It seemed almost unfair that he had apparently been better at dealing with his own death than any of them had been so far. Aloysius for his part stared back at Sharpe with an unreadable expression on his face and Miriam felt herself itch for her gun. The impulse was dangerous and could escalate the situation and if she were honest Miriam was not sure whose side she would pick if it came down to it. Too many questions had not yet been answered to make that call.

_“You’re not a meat sack controlled by a weird snake or something like that, are you?”_

Aloysius finally asked but despite the tension he sounded almost amused. The corners of his mouth were lifted just a tiny bit and Miriam felt the situation relax.

_“Nah no snakes. Just me a bit more alive than I probably should be curtesy of the Missus over there.”_

_“Then we’re good.”_

_“Good. Because there is no half-way decent hotel in this town and I don’t think I’d feel quite comfortable sleeping under a roof with a guy out to kill me.”_

This time Miriam could not help but smile when she heard Arabella huff behind her. If nothing else it was good to know that in spite of everything Arabella and Sharpe still seemed utterly at odds with how things should be done. The last month with both of them sharing close quarters must have been amusing to say the least of this not-quite-exchange was anything to go by.

In the end they barely covered the basics of what had really happened since Arabella’s disappearance before deciding the conversation would profit from them clear minds and coffee. Sleeping arrangements were easy enough to organise with the men retreating to Sharpe’s room and Miriam and Arabella sharing Arabella’s bedroom.  
Only when both women laid in the bed did Miriam realise Arabella seemed troubled still. She took a deep breath and was glad for all the experience in comforting other people when Arabella seemed to relax just a bit before Miriam even managed to speak.

_“Are you still worried about them? Aly won’t hurt him, you can trust his word.”_

Arabella looked at Miriam in the dark room, her wide brown eyes almost unnervingly focused as though she was looking for an answer Miriam did not know she could give. Her voice, when she spoke, was measured.

_“I am not quite sure I can trust him just yet but I think I trust you enough to believe. For now.”_

It was not what Miriam had hoped for and her right hand pulled the blanked tighter around herself but the younger woman seemed reassured enough to fall asleep a few minutes later and that was all Miriam could hope for. For now.

Miriam awoke slowly with the exhaustion from weeks of travel and the mental strain of the last day still gnawing at her. It was early though and dusk was only slowly approaching. The last weeks on the road had certainly messed with her sleep schedule though Miriam had never been a person who woke up late to begin with. However tired she was she was not too tired to notice that she was alone in the room. A shudder went through her and Miriam felt her heart clench in dread. It was very likely that there was a good reason for Arabella’s absence. One that meant she had not run again. And yet when Miriam got dressed she had to stop her hands from shaking and her mind from racing. Panic, she knew, was not the solution. With a last deep breath Miriam left the room only to come face to face with a sight she had not expected. The corner bench that had been the centre of the groups’ conversation the night before was currently occupied by two people. One part of it was occupied by Sharpe who sat with one arm stretched over the back of the bench and with his head titled slightly back and to the side. His eyes were half open and he seemed to be staring at the horizon. On the other part of the bench, stretched out and covered by a thin blanket, laid Arabella seemingly deep asleep and with her left hand loosely wrapped around Sharpe’s wrist not currently on the back of the bench.

Miriam was not quite certain what to make of the scene in front of her. It seemed almost intimate with Arabella and Sharpe comfortable despite the fact that the corner bench could not be described as particularly comfortable. Unbidden a thought came to Miriam and she found herself wondering just what the three of them had really come upon or maybe even disturbed. She must have made some noise because when she averted her eyes from Arabella and looked back at Sharpe the man’s blue eyes were on her. Slowly she raised an eyebrow in question. What she had not expected was the deep sigh as Sharpe looked away from her and back out the window.

_“It’s the price she paid for my life. She took eternal sleep from me and now she cannot rest too far from my side. Her words not mine.”_

Something about the way he had said this made Miriam doubt Sharpe was entirely convinced of this. He seemed more like a man who had had an argument about this before and had accepted it as the chosen narrative rather than someone who truly believed the words.

_“What are your words then,”_

She asked quietly, not quite willing to wake up Arabella or break the sombre mood of the conversation. Honesty awaits those who knew how to look for it. Sharpe, for his part, did not move.

**“** _I think she is paying the price for my life, alright. She is paying the price for not accepting death. Arabella thinks this is the price she has to pay to the Dealer but I don’t think the Dealer bargains in regret. She is paying penance to herself for not being able to bring her sister back and for thinking she can beat death.”_

Miriam considered Sharpe’s words in silence and turned her head to watch the sun rise just as Sharpe did. There was a lot to be said about the subject but that was an issue for later when her thoughts were more than half formed ideas and meaningless platitudes. The lines in their lives were blurry and magic, Miriam knew, existed. Unlike Sharpe she was not quite as certain what the Dealer would consider appropriate payment but she had seen Arabella’s frantic look when she had tried to unbury her sister, had felt her shake and cry after she had had to shoot said sister and kill her again and if she turned her head just a little she could see Arabella hold on to a man who had died on their watch. Maybe there was some merit to Sharpe’s words either way. For now Miriam sat down on a chair opposite of Clayton Sharpe and watched the sun dip above the horizon. Things were rarely ever simple and maybe Arabella paid more than one price. And maybe Sharpe was accommodating her because he was alive and maybe he himself yearned to be close to someone.   
There would be time to figure all of this out.   
Later. 

**Author's Note:**

> Rules, what rules?


End file.
